turn your tragedies (into rhapsodies)
by MedusaOfTheSpecies
Summary: In the aftermath of the war, Hogwarts isn't the only thing being rebuilt. :: Drastoria


**A/N:** I'm back with another Drastoria! Nobody saw this coming, right?

 **Written for:**

Ancient Runes: Write about reconstruction.

Roald Dahl: (character) Draco, (words) somber, wicked, sun, mask, calm, steady, kill, maddening, acidic, employ

Honeycomb: (word) shiny

Triwizard: Quote, dialogue, location, trope

 **o.O.o**

After the war, it's all a blur of hissed slurs and movement - he loses both his parents within a week, his father to Azkaban and his mother to where she moves to France after the Ministry seized their manor.

She offers to take him with her, but Draco can do nothing more than turn his nose up at the offer. He's still a coward but he's a Malfoy. His mother lied to save him. The least he can do is save the Malfoy Reputation.

 _(For her, if not for himself)_

Some would say it's his duty, but he's had enough of that being a Death Eater. This is rebuilding. He wants his life back.

 **o.O.o**

"Why, Mr. Malfoy?" Headmistress McGonagall asks, pushing her glasses back up her nose.

Draco sighs and tries not to let his misery show on his face. He should have more pride than to resort to begging the Headmistress and former Gryffindor Head of House for a volunteering post, rebuilding a school that holds more bad than good memories, but he doesn't have the luxury of that anymore.

"Because no one else would even consider employing me, even without pay," he says, trying not to snap.

McGonagall looks at him, face somber but voice steadily disapproving. "This is not a charity, Mr. Malfoy. I am not required to allow you to help."

He's not getting anywhere and he knows it. That frustration prickles at him, curving up his body like vines, until he finds himself losing any traces of calmness he ever had and digging his nails into the spot under his robes where a faded Dark mark can be found.

"Please-" he says and his voice cracks under the weight of the mask he's been wearing his whole life. "I need this - I'm losing my mind, I can't stop thinking about the battle and -"

Draco closes his eyes. "I want to fix things. Please."

The pause is maddening as the Headmistress stares at him. Bitterly, he wonders if she sees the family resemblance right now - his eyes wild, hair stuck up in every direction, breaking himself against the edge of insanity.

And then, "Welcome to the team then, Mr. Malfoy. You start tomorrow."

He's still falling, drowning, suffocating, but this is the best news he's heard in years. "Thank you," he whispers, and he means it.

 **o.O.o**

Hogwarts is nothing more than a rumble and he lets out a curse when he sees it. Walls have been torn down, and broken and blood-stained stone covers the ground. The worst part about it, although, is the fact that the sun is beating down and that the birds are chirping, even when he feels like he's four minutes from a heart attack.

"You should swear louder, you know," a voice teases and he turns around, clutching at his wand, only to find a black haired girl with a wicked smile looking at him.

"You scared me," Draco accuses and his tone is downright acidic as he glares at her.

The girl shrugs, smile still not faded. "My bad. But you look significantly more alert now, so I think I've done my duty as a citizen."

"Citizen of what?" Draco says and he's only half kidding. Their government is in ruins.

She laughs at that and it reminds him of bells twinkling, a sound so pure and delighted it cuts through the air. Unconsciously, his glare fades.

"Who are you?" He asks instead and she turns to face him with such surprise that he knows, deep in his bones, that this isn't going to end well.

"I'm Astoria Greengrass, we are supposed to be partners for the rebuilding," she says quietly. "I thought the Headmistress would have told you."

He wants to cry hearing that name. No wonder she seems familiar, she's the miniature copy of Daphne except Daphne's never spent a year spying for Dumbledore's army, nor would she help rebuild Hogwarts.

That honour, or lack of it, belongs only to Astoria.

"No wonder we're partners." He snorts. "The Slytherin spy and the Boy-Who-Damned-Everyone. The Prophet is going to be all over this."

"Please, Draco," Astoria says, grinning, "no one with good taste calls you that. And after all, it's our imperfections that make us perfect for each other."

He stared at him. The joke should fall flat but maybe it's because he's lost everything that the only thing that comes out of his mouth is hysterical laughter.

 **o.O.o**

He dreams of gods and monsters and cowards, of blurring realities and endless nightmares, of haunted eyes and scarred wrists and running far enough away to escape.

He didn't kill a man, once upon a time, but he thinks he'd like to die.

 **o.O.o**

Astoria is good company, if only because she distracts him with her endless chatter and the way she says every goddamn thing that comes into her mind.

It's not okay, nothing about this. He levitates boulders and they fall sometimes, creating rumbles in the ground. Sometimes he gets them to the right place himself, but usually it takes both their combined strengths.

Poison gets on his hands when he sorts through the greenhouses. Astoria winces at his swollen hands and floos to Greengrass manor when he refuses to see the nurse.

Hogwarts is rebuilding in the dark shadows the war has caused, and he's helping. It's never enough, but with every piece of stone that falls in place, he thinks he stands a chance.

o.O.o

It's worse when he visits his father; the nights before and after the visit are always sleepless.

"Father," he says and pretends that the haggard man in the cell is the same person who once made an empire behind the Malfoy name.

"Draco," he father croaks out, groaning as he attempts to move closer to the cell bars without his cane.

Pride, Draco remembers. His father used to be so proud.

 **o.O.o**

"You look like death," Astoria comments honestly as he drags himself to work, head pounding and circles turning purple under his eyes.

"I saw my father," Draco says curtly and turns away. Astoria's face falls in pity.

Putting a hand on his shoulder, Astoria quietly says, "I'm sorry."

"I don't need your pity," Draco snaps.

"Then what do you want?" Astoria retorts softly.

Draco snorts bitterly. "Right now? I kind of wish I was dead or in his place instead."

"You're too important to just… die!" Astoria exclaims.

"I'm not important," Draco says, thinking about how disgusted even his fellow Slytherins had looked upon seeing him. At his trial, someone had spat on him. "Everybody will do just fine without me."

Astoria stares at him for a second and then it's almost like someone had snapped a lever inside her because she throws her hands up. "Who cares about everyone? What about me?"

Draco blinks. "What about you-" he starts but then her lips are on his and he's tasting lip gloss so sweet it stains him, and there is someone else touching him without any trace of hatred.

It's the closest to okay he's been since the war and he doesn't think anymore, just pulls her closer.

 **o.O.o**

"My son," Narcissa Malfoy says warmly, sweeping him into her arms. "You look well."

Draco knows he's been better lately but it's hearing it from his mother, who had not so long ago tried to get him to move away from his demons, that reminds him.

He tries to imagine it for himself, seeing him happy and healthy. She must be surprised. She must be relieved.

"Yes, Mother." He smiles back. "Hogwarts is almost rebuilt and I thought I'd come visit."

"Hogwarts seems like it wasn't the only thing putting itself back together," his mother says, planting a kiss on his forehead.

Draco can't help but smirk at that. Astoria would be glad to see that someone was appreciating her efforts in helping him heal.

"There's someone, isn't there?" His mother says, drawing him out of his thoughts, and he startles.

"Yes," he says softly, thinking about Astoria and her wicked grins but loving eyes. They are two broken people trying to help each other and they've agreed to keep it a secret until they're both ready, but he can't lie to his mother.

"You do not have to tell me," his mother says, "but I recognize that fondness in your eyes. Your father- he used to look at me the same way.

Draco nods. It's bittersweet, this moment. There are so many things he has lost, but he is healing.

 **o.O.o**

One day, he will put a shiny ring on Astoria's fingers, and not scream in his sleep, and wake up feeling well rested. One day, he will have a child and a home and a family.

But for right now, he is happy and he is alive, and that is enough.


End file.
